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THE CONVOLVULUS 



THE CONVOLVULUS 



A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS 



BY 

ALLEN NORTON 



NEW YORK 

CLAIRE MARIE 

MCMXIV 



COPYRIGHT, 1914 

By CLAIRE MARIE 

DRAMATIC RIGHTS RETAINED BY 
THE AUTHOR 






PRINTED SEPTEMBER, 1914 



m\l 19 1914 

©t;i.A3!)8153 



TO 
CARL VANVECTEN 



THOSE CONCERNED 

Jane Gibbs 

Gloria, Her Sister 

Kathryn 

Dill 

Jack Hargrave 

Peter Hargrave 

Col. Christopher Crapsey 



SCENES OF THE PLAY 

Act 1. Jane's house on Gramercy Park 
Act 2. Peter Hargrave's Apartment 
Act 3. Reverting to Act 1 



TIME 

An Afternoon 



THE CONVOLVULUS 

ACT I 

Scene — Jane's house on Gramercy Park. A living 
room with doors R. and L. Entrance U. R. Curtains 
U. C, shounng an alcove which looks out on the Park. 
Dill, in velvet knickerbockers and jacket, is arranging 
service for tea. Jack, a young man of twenty, has 
entered. He wears green kid gloves and a green Alpine 
hat to match. 

Jack. So you're getting married, Dill? 

Dill. I am, sir. Have you any objections to offer.f^ 

Jack. None whatever, Dill. But why tea at this 
hour? It's only just past lunch. 

Dill. It's the very latest thing, sir; all Americans 
are doing it now. It's to keep up with the London 
time, sir, and there it's tea-time already. {Examines 
a crumpled manuscript with his hack to Jack.) 

Jack (indifferently). What is that, Dill? 

Dill. It's a will, sir. 

Jack (observing Dill's progress about the room). 
Never admit that you have a will, Dill. W^here there's 
a will there's a conscience, you know. One must get 
over such things. 

Dill. I'll try to, sir. (Puts manuscript back in 
pocket.) 

Jack (with an air of importance). I've some melan- 
choly news. Dill. 

(9) 



10 The Convolvulus Act I 

Dill. Melancholy for whom, sir? 

Jack. For you, Dill, and for my father. I hope 
you won't take it too seriously when I say you're the 
living picture of my father. 

Dill. Oh, I just adore pictures, sir. 

Jack. My father does not adore you, Dill. He 
took you for his brother. 

Dill (with dignity). Really, sir! Who do you say 
that I am, sir? 

Jack (facing about). I say you're the butler. Dill. 

Dill. Quite right, sir. (Attentively.) Are you a 
gentleman? 

Jack. By no means. 

Dill. Your father? 

Jack. Nor he either. (Enter Jane.) 

Dill. My brother was a gentleman. (Exit haugh- 
tily with tray.) 

Jane is forty, a young woman of forty. If failure is 
the worst deformity, she must he open to that accusation, 
for she has compromised with life. But Jane will 
always he something a little hetter than a woman. 

Jane. What is it all about. Jack? Yourself? 
Kathryn? Or merely me? 

Jack. None of us, Jane. Dill said that he was 
getting married. 

Jane. Oh, Dill's always getting married. He 
never does, though. 

Jack. And then Dill was telling me about a brother 
of his, and I was telling him about a brother of my 
father's. I have never told you, Jane, but father 
really came here looking for a brother. Sort of a 
business journey on his part. That is — none of his 
business whatever. I tell him fathers should begin 



Act I The Convolvulus 11 

at home and stay there. But father feels differently. 
Have you got a husband, Jane? I know that nothing 
short of marriage will ever stop him. 

Jane. I haven't, Jack. But I almost had an 
English one once. 

Jack. No need to explain, Jane. They don't exist. 
Our men were all killed in the Wars of the Wives. 
Father says it was they who started that horrible 
Rebellion in this country, and that it's going on still. 
Father doesn't believe in matrimony. That's because 
you're the first person I've had the heart to broach 
the subject to. (Aside.) I don't think I shall ever 
marry. It's a fine opportunity for a young man. 

Jane. To become your mother. Jack, I might 
think of it. But a minister can support anything but 
a wife or a sense of humor. 

Jack. Ah! but if father comes into the estate — 

Jane. The estate? 

Jack. Yes, you see when my grandfather died he 
left his entire fortune to his second son, at the same 
time disinheriting us. Said that when father became 
a minister he handled enough tainted money without 
hoarding any of his. 

Jane. That's too bad. Jack. Not a penny? 

Jack. No, just died and damned us. 

Jane. He might have left that to his father, 
mightn't he? 

Jack. So he might. It doesn't make much differ- 
ence now though. By the terms of the will he had to 
be found, or to find himself, within one year, or the 
estate reverted to us. (Pulls out watch.) His time's 
almost up I fear. 

Jane. You don't think he's dead, do you? 



12 The Convolvulus Act I 

Jack. That or strayed I guess. (Sighs.) He was 
always the black sheep of the family. 

Jane. It was certainly very good of your father 
to come to America to iSnd his brother. Where did 
he think he was, do you suppose, in Australia.? 

Jack. Well — his brother always had an antipathy for 
Americans. He married an American ! (Enter Gi^ori a.) 

Gloria is the ordinary middle-aged mortal. In face, 
figure and deportment she is like any other middle-class 
American woman. All American women belong to the 
middle class. They are not all Glorias, however. 

Gloria (flouncing into a chair). Have you seen 
Kathryn — any one .^^ (Puts the finishing look to a letter; 
seals it; then resumes without noticing either one of them.) 
I have a very important letter for her. 

Jack. I didn't know anything was of importance 
to Kathryn, now that she's in love with me. 

Gloria (quietly). Kathryn in love with you? Mr. 
Hargrave, you must be mistaken. 

Jack. No — she proposed to me yesterday. 

Jane. And did you accept.? 

Jack. No, I wanted to surprise Kathryn by 
refusing, and then to startle her by proposing myself. 
This afternoon I have chosen for my surprise. Three 
o'clock I think would be the appropriate hour. 

Jane. The surprise. Jack, may be yours, but the 
romance remains with Kathryn. Eve will out, you 
know, and Kathryn has proposed again. 

Jack. Again! May I ask who it is who has been 
so bold as to be proposed to.? 

Jane. Oh, it's still in the family. 

Jack. The family? 

Jane. Yes, Kathryn has proposed to your father. 



Act I The Convolvulus 13 

She said her love for you was of no import, that her 
love for your father was based upon degrees of rever- 
ential confidence which marriage alone could be 
trusted to dispel. 

Jack (rising). I presume, Jane, that you refer to 
somebody else's father. 

Jane. Your very own. 

Jack. Impossible ! 

Jane. She recognized him at once. 

Jack. How so? 

Jane. By his resemblance to you. 

Jack. Improbable. 

Jane. Why so? 

Jack (seating himself). I have no father. 

Jane. Of course if you have no father, that settles 
it. You have often spoken to us of one, just the same. 

Jack. So I have. But he's not a real father. 

Gloria. What sort of a father is it that's not a 
real father? 

Jack. Oh, mine's adopted. 

Jane. You mean that you're an orphan, an adopted 
son, or something of the sort? 

Jack. Yes; father found me; on a Friday. 

Jane. Found you? On a Friday? 

Gloria (rising). I don't see anything peculiar in 
the day at all, Jane. It is one of the seven, and to be 
found in all the best calendars. (Brusquely.) Have 
you found Kathryn, Jack? (Enter Dill.) 

Jack. I think I have. I think she's in the next 
room. (Edges off C.) 

Dill. Pardon the contradiction, sir, but Miss 
Kathryn is in the Park. Picking convolvulus I think. 
Convolvulus very sweet today, sir. 



14 The Convolvulus Act I 

Jack. Was she alone, Dill? 

Dill {gaily). No, sir; no, sir. I think she's with 
your father, sir. {Retreats before Jack's glance.) 

Jack {wheeling about). Foolish father! foolish 
father! Really I cannot begin to account for such 
conduct on my parent's part. The sense of family 
obligation in the old is appallingly on the wane. But 
perhaps he's forgotten his glasses. Father's been 
wearing glasses for twenty years and performs the 
most revolting capers whenever he's without them. 
He becomes a boy all over again. {Stands in curtain 
way.) Have you got a book on fathers, Jane? Or 
perhaps I'll see him from the window. {Stretches 
himself out in inner room where he may be observed 
throughout remainder of scene.) 

Gloria {matter-of-factly). I think a book on daugh- 
ters is what you really need, Jane. {Fans herself.) I 
need not say that Kathryn has never been a daughter 
to you. {They sit facing each other.) 

Jane. Of course not, Gloria. How could she have 
been? But Kathryn is my adopted daughter. 

Gloria {very determinedly). Kathryn is not your 
daughter at all! Kathryn is my daughter. 

Jane. How unexpected, Gloria! Since when did 
you discover this? 

Gloria. I have never discovered it at all, of course. 
I have known it from the first. 

Jane. Then that Friday, that biblical Friday, 
twenty years ago, when you came to me with tears 
in your eyes — and a basket and a baby — 

Gloria. I did it for your sake, Jane. I thought it 
would add to your character. 



Act I The Convolvulus 15 

Jane. Why didn't you adopt Kathryn yourself, 
Gloria? You might have done that for your daughter. 

Gloria. For reasons of my own, and my husband's, 
I thought it best to allow you to. 

Jane. Your child is quite your treasure, Gloria, 
you hide it so cleverly. As for your husband, I think 
you must have buried him. 

Gloria. We were married on our trip to London — 
yours and mine. My husband's father did not approve 
of the match and our marriage was annulled. Events 
which have since transpired allow us to be reunited. 

Jane. It seems very strange this, your marrying 
your own husband. 

Gloria {radiantly). It is strange, beautifully, 
idealistically strange. Oh, you never could believe 
me, never! 

Jane. I believed you once, Gloria. 

Gloria {turning quickly). In the exact spot where 
I said I had found the basket — 

Jane. And with which Kathryn picks posies now — 

Gloria. It was there that I found the will! 

Jane. What will, Gloria.^ 

Gloria. The will leaving everything to my hus- 
band — on condition that we were married — that is, 
left it to us as man and wife. 

Jane. So you think the will won't hold.^^ 

Gloria. Not unless we are married, and imme- 
diately. 

Jane. It is a great temptation, Gloria, I admit. 

Gloria. More than that; my husband takes a title. 

Jane. Oh, I detest titles — American titles at any 
rate. In America a title is the conventional crown 
to which the rich and poor alike must bow. Every 



16 The Convolvulus Act I 

professional man, every silly doctor and scientist 
holds some title by the hand with which he is clubbing 
us on the head. Once we assert ourselves, feel instinc- 
tively that which he never could comprehend, down 
comes the cudgel. 

Gloria. You don't think my husband is going to 
beat me? 

Jane. I don't know, I can't say. 

Gloria (proudly). My husband is a baronet. 

Jane. Then probably he will. 

Gloria. I tell you frankly that my husband is 
not going to beat me. The English haven't beaten 
anybody in years, and I'm not going to be the first. 
(Going closer to her.) Jane, why do you insist upon 
calling yourself Jane Gibbs? Would not your hus- 
band's name, or even Mrs. Gibbs, be better? You 
must think of Kathryn and your husband. 

Jane. My husband? 

Gloria. Your husband! (Drawing still closer, her 
curiosity lending a tone of affection.) Who is your 
husband, Jane? I have always been most curious. 

Jane (shrugging her shoulders). Indeed I am sorry, 
Gloria. I know that curiosity never should be allowed 
to go unanswered, but I have no husband. 

Gloria (at the point of tears). Jane, this is terrible! 
I sanctioned Kathryn's adoption believing you at 
least had that. What of her? What of your son? I 
thought that constant association with my daughter 
might arouse some affection for him whom you have 
evidently disowned. Have you never thought that 
he might want to visit this country, that he might 
feel the neglect of the only mother he can call his 
own? What of your son! 



Act I The Convolvulus 17 

Jane. My son? 

Gloria. Your son ! 

Jane. I have no son. 

Gloria. Ever since your return from London I 
have been told that you had a husband, and you have 
told me that you had a son. You said his name was 
John. 

Jane. Suit yourself, Gloria. I have a son. 

Gloria. And John is now.^^ 

Jane (hesitating — then with real enthusiasm). At a 
School for Socialism in Canterbury. 

Gloria. A School for Socialism! 

Jane. Yes, and until John's twentieth year there 
is completed he must remain in socialistic hands. 

Gloria. You are not for socialism, Jane.'* 

Jane. I am not enough interested in myself, 
Gloria, to be interested in others. However, I am for 
socialism till the advent of socialism, then I shall be 
for something else. 

Gloria. And this school — had it a founder.'* 

Jane. Yes, a Col. Christopher Crapsey. A really 
lovable man. The idea was wholly his, and wholly 
original too. The school has prospered and is now 
one of the largest in England. From all that I hear 
John is its prize pupil. 

Gloria. But are you sure, Jane, that Crapsey is 
quite, quite reliable.'* 

Jane. I am never sure of anything, Gloria. But 
Crapsey is in this country now and you may judge 
for yourself. He wrote me yesterday to say that he 
was coming to see me on a matter of importance, of 
the very first importance. I suppose he had refer- 
ence to John. 



18 The Convolvulus Act I 

Gloria. I should never trust any man, Jane. 
They give us children and suffering and that is all. 
Pain has ever been the path of woman. 

Jane. They talk a lot about the pain of women, 
Gloria, but it's not so. Slender waists are still the 
style. 

Gloria. Nevertheless I should investigate for 
myself. 

Jane. And Kathryn — what would you do about her.?* 

Gloria {holding up letter). Kathryn will under- 
stand when she has read this. It is from her father 
and explains everything. 

Jane. I am glad that Kathryn's father is a man of 
letters. Few Englishmen can boast of that. But is 
Kathryn to become your daughter, or will she remain 
with me.^^ 

Gloria. For twenty years Kathryn has been your 
daughter. She has been your daughter and nobody 
else's. Kathryn thinks she is your daughter. She 
acts like your daughter. (Rises.) And now — when 
I had expected some vast upheaval of your nature, 
some evidence of more than a petty affection, you 
cast her off for a son whom you have scarcely seen. 
You have no maternal instinct whatever. 

Jane. I am sorry, Gloria. But when one puts 
money into a thing one expects some return — even 
if it is a son. And I have spent a great deal of dollars 
on John's education. 

Gloria. How mercenary you are! And here 
Kathryn has barely a stitch on her back. (Enter 
Dill.) 

Jane. That's due to the new fashions, Gloria. 
(Clock strikes. Reenter Jack.) 



Act I The Convolvulus 19 

Dill (to Gloria). There's a bit of Convolvulus 
in the air, my lady. (Kathryn steals in unnoticed.) 

Jane. A bit of what, Dill? I've heard that name 
before. Have you ever heard of the Convolvulus, 
Jack? It sounds as round as a race-track. 

Jack (watch in hand). I don't know, Jane. I 
haven't followed the flowers for years. 

Gloria. Oh, it's only an ordinary flower that grows 
in the Park. I don't think it even has a smell, but 
Dill says I'm named after it. 

Jack. That's not true, Gloria. There's only one 
Convolvulus, and that's Kathryn. I named her that 
yesterday. Besides, who ever heard of a Convolvulus 
Gloria or a Gloria Convolvulus? It's absurd. 

Kathryn (emptying flowers over Jack's head) . Well, 
here are some anyway. A flower for you. Jack. And 
mother, a flower for you, too. A Convolvulus for each 
of you. 

Kathryn is picturesque and pretty. A little too 
young to be anything but herself , she is nicely original. 
Her favorite books are Brieux and Browning^ with a 
little Tennyson in the summer. She believes in the soul, 
and has one. 

Jack. You are just in time, Kathryn. I have 
something of importance to tell you. 

Gloria. And I have an important letter for you. 

Kathryn. Oh, mother — ^you know how I have 
always wanted one. Do you think it could be from 
— father? 

Jane. I don't know, dear. I'm going to look for 
a book on mothers and I'll know more about parents 
in general when I come back. (Goes out C.) 

Kathryn (to herself). Of course not; how silly of 



20 The Convolvulus Act I 

me. Why it hasn't even a postage stamp, to say 
nothing of a foreign one. 

Gloria. I shouldn't read it now, dear, anyhow. 
(Prepares to go.) 

Jack. I shouldn't read it at all. I think Gloria 
wrote it herself. 

Gloria. If you have any intention of marrying 
Mr. Hargrave, Kathryn, I should advise you to teach 
his son better manners. (Exit.) 

Kathryn. I'm afraid you're too young, Jack, for me 
to ever teach you anything. (Turns her back on him.) 

Jack (with his back to her). I'm old enough to be 
thoroughly cross^and rebellious, Kathryn. 

Kathryn (facing about) . Jack, you're not, and such 
remarks are thoroughly disrespectful. One of the first 
lessons in life a young man must learn is never to 
rebel against a woman. 

Jack. I distinctly rebel against your proposing to 
my father. I was with father most of the morning and 
took especial pains that he should meet no one. Where 
did you find him? 

Kathryn. I discovered him in the Park, Jack. 
He was wandering about as aimlessly as a child, and 
I am sure had no earthly idea of where he was going. 

Jack. Yes, father moves very much like a planet 
at times, doesn't he? But then I'm not responsible 
for his defects. (Nestles beside her.) 

Kathryn. I don't think your father has any 
defects. 

Jack (continuing). And then father's a terrible 
failure. But one expects that. The old are all failures. 
It is only from a very young man that one demands 
immediate, impossible success. 



Act I The Convolvulus 21 

Kathryn. Before you talk so much about others. 
Jack, you might educate yourself a little. 

Jack. Oh, I don't believe in education, Kathryn. 
What has education done for this country? One- 
hundred-million Philistines? 

Kathryn. What a silly thing to say. Jack. (Strokes 
his hair.) 

Jack. It makes no difference what one says, 
Kathryn, so long as one says something. 

Kathryn. You're very irreverent. Jack. (Pushes 
him aside.) 

Jack. Please don't call me Jack! I'd so much 
prefer a number. 

Kathryn. A number? 

Jack. Yes, a number. I know Shakespeare was 
thinking of me when he said there was nothing in a 
name. 

Kathryn. You're always comparing yourself to 
Shakespeare, Jack, and I don't like it. Shakespeare 
was a great poet, and you're not even a poet at all. 
(Moves away.) 

Jack (with mock gallantry). The earth should not 
always be told it cannot rival the sun. 

Kathryn. That's better. 

Jack. But seriously, I do wish I had a number. 

Kathryn. You're not a futurist. Jack? 

Jack. I'm far too futile for that. But I believe in 
numbers in place of names. 

Kathryn. That's just nonsense. Jack. 

Jack. It's not nonsense. Numbers are necessary 
and convenient. Moreover, I for one am entirely in 
accord with the socialistic idea of the separation of 
parent and child. (Rises.) A School for Socialism 



22 The Convolvulus Act I 

is the one thing most needed today — some place a 
child may be put and not molested by its parents, 
adopted or otherwise. Each child should have a 
number, a perfectly reliable number, one that was 
all his own and inherited from no one. 

Kathryn. I don't think your father would like 
to hear you talk that way. Jack. 

Jack. No, but then you must remember that 
father is a back number. 

Ej^thryn. I don't care. 

Jack. No woman ever does. Lack of care is their 
distinction. 

Kathryn. And lack of character a man's. 

Jack. Then you are no longer my Convolvulus? 

Kathryn. It's too late. You had your chance 
and didn't take it. Never overlook an opportunity 
with a woman, you might change your mind. 

Jack. Gloria said she was named after that flower, 
and I of course denied it. I said that you were my 
Convolvulus — my white Convolvulus. 

Kathryn. I am your father's Convolvulus now. 
Jack. What's more, he's coming to tea. (Reenter 
Jane.) 

Jack. Well, of all that's outrageous! Tea? At 
this hour? It's three-fifteen, and they're deep in 
their dinners in London by now. 

Jane. The clock may be set back, Jack. (A pause.) 

Kathryn. Jack's father was telling me about 
his poor lost brother. 

Jack. Oh, I'm not so sure that he's poor, or lost 
either — at least not till tomorrow. 

Jane. Why what do you mean. Jack? You said 
he was dead, to me these few minutes ago. 



Act I The Convolvulus 23 

Kathryn. And your father isn't even looking for 
him any longer. 

Jack. Looking for him? I should say not! When 
people look for things they find them. When they 
look for children they are successful. And the same 
rule applies to brothers. Parents are harder to locate 
and it is their redeeming feature. But father has 
found his brother! He found him this morning in 
the Park — found him with his own eyes, or rather his 
glasses. Father can see anywhere with his glasses, 
and nowhere with his eyes. If it were not for his 
glasses he'd be like other people. 

Kathryn. I don't believe this imputation against 
your father. You think you can win my love by 
foully maligning his character and making him appear 
as wicked as yourself. But you cannot. I don't 
believe one word you have spoken, not one! {Throws 
herself on sofa.) Your father doesn't wear glasses! 
You have tried to deceive me. (Enter Gloria.) 

Gloria. He has deceived me too. But my charge 
is of a more serious nature. Jane herself could not 
have been guilty of such conduct. You have tam- 
pered with the dearest thing it is a woman's privilege 
to possess. You have mocked that which was only 
mine to give and yours to take. You have sullied a 
woman's name. (Jack looks appealing to Jane and 
Kathryn. Both scorn him.) 

Jack (on bended knees). Gloria! (His hands are 
uplifted in prayer.) 

Gloria (holding flower) . When I said I was named 
after that flower you denied it. But my name is 
Gloria and the Convolvulus is mine by baptism. 
(Bell rings. Dill goes out.) 



24 The Convolvulus Act I 

Jane. He has been guilty of the grossest decep- 
tion. 

Kathryn. Of the very grossest deception. We 
could never trust him now. {They lock arms and 
saunter across the stage together.) 

Gloria. He has! The Convolvulus is nothing 
but a Morning Glory, and I was named after it. If 
I were not so very stationary I should pick some 
now. I should pick a whole bundle of them. 

Ka-THRYN {most severely). Your father does not 
wear glasses. You must promise never to say such a 
thing again. 

Jack. And to think that of all days father should 
have chosen this one to forget his glasses. 

Jane. Love is blind, Jack. {Enter Dill out of 
breath.) Perhaps that explains it. 

Dill. Mr. Hargrave, Miss Kathryn. 

A white flower peeps clumsily from Hargrave' s 
buttonhole. He wears the usual vest and has the unusual 
voice of a member of the clergy. His hair is long, and 
as he has apparently forgotten his glasses, he stands in 
the doorway quite, quite confused. 

Kathryn {running up to him). Oh, you dear, 
dear man! {Takes his hand.) Of course you don't 
wear them, do you? {Calling.) Jack, let me intro- 
duce you to your father. Mr. Hargrave, let me intro- 
duce you to your son. 

Hargrave {groping about and wiping his forehead 
uneasily). My son? 

Kathryn. Jack — ^your father! 

Jack. I am not his son, and he is not my father. 
I consider his presence an intrusion, a disgrace. You 
shall be unfrocked, sir, at the first opportunity. 



Act I The Convolvulus 25 

Hargrave (marching up to Jane). How dare you, 
sir! How dare you speak so disrespectfully of your 
father ! 

Jane. Mr. Hargrave, I am not your son — although 
you certainly do look familiar. (Hargrave has 
floundered to the other end of the room and is being cared 
for by Dill, who mops his face with a big handkerchief.) 

Jack. I know, father, there's great suffering among 
the rich in this hot weather. Do you think you'd 
still care to marry him, Jane.^^ 

Jane. I'm not sure. Jack. Your father looks 
very much like someone I almost married before. 

Jack. Ah, in that case you'd hardly care to repeat 
the experiment. (Waves to them.) Goodbye, Kathryn. 
Come soon and find his glasses. 

Kathryn. No, I'd rather read my letter. 

Jane. I'm not a bad looker, Jack. And I have a 
new high hat which reaches to Heaven. 

Jack. No more than mine, Jane. It's from the 
Alps. (Takes his arm.) This way, father. You 
don't drink tea anyway. (They go out. Jane strolls 

off.) 

Kathryn (to Dill). Do you think. Dill, do you 
think that a man could ever be a success in life, I 
mean a real success like you have^ who wore glasses? 

Dill. In my capacity. Miss Kathryn, I have often 
wished I wore them. There are so many things it's 
best not to see too clearly. 

Kathryn (with a relieved sigh). Oh, that's all right 
then. (She disappears. Gloria and Dill are left 
quite, quite alone.) 

Dill (after a pause). Your debut — and that about 
the Convolvulus — was very sweet, my dear. 



26 The Convolvulus Act I 

Gloria. Thank you, Dill. 

Dill. On the contrary, Mr. Hargrave's entrance 
failed to come up to expectations. 

Gloria {sternly). No, Dill. But men never do, 
and Mr. Hargrave can render us a distinct service 
later. You forget that we must be married. 

Dill. Is it really to come true, love? 

Gloria. Of course. Dill. And now are you quite 
ready.'* 

Dill. Quite, my love. 

Gloria. Are your hands clean .f* 

Dill {taking hers in his). No man's could be 
cleaner. 

Gloria {smoothing his hair). I don't think you 
brushed your hair. Dill. 

Dill. It's a pleasure to hear you say that, dear. 
I have always noticed that when men and women 
tire of each other they become very careless of each 
other's appearance. 

Gloria. Then you do love me. Dill.'* 

Dill. Oh, my love. {Embraces her ^passionately .) 

Curtain. 



ACT II 

Scene — Peter Hargrave's apartment. Door R. 
Exit L. Narrow hall U. R. with door L. An old- 
fashioned hell rope overhead; double desk, two chairs, 
and a Venus on the wall. Enter Jack escorting Har- 
GRAVE by the arm. 

Jack. If it were my own father, he could not 
have acted in a more gentlemanly manner. Your 
every movement marks you the gentleman. You 
have a gentleman's happy faculty for doing the wrong 
thing at the right time. I have always feared that 
some day I should meet a gentleman, but never, never 
suspected you. {They come down stage together.) Dill 
said his brother was a gentleman, but no one believes 
Dill, no one but myself. (Hargrave is doing his best 
to overlook Jack's frivolity.) 

Hargrave. I must confess that I am glad my 
brother has been found out. What did you say his 
social standing was? 

Jack {using Venus as a mirror). A butler, father. 
The standing is on a par with petty theft. 

Hargrave. A butler! A thief! 

Jack. Yes, a menial, father, a form of man. It 
owes its origin to menues. 

Hargrave {rubbing his hands). I haven't told you 
before, my boy, and an announcement of this kind 

(27) 



28 The Convolvulus Act n 

should really proceed from the young lady in question, 
but I believe that I am engaged. 

Jack. Of course, you are, father. I'm attending 
to that. 

Hargrave. Then Kathryn has told you.^ 

Jack. Kathryn? This is the last straw, father. 
(Pulls quill pen from hat.) You shall be unfrocked, 
sir. (Sits down at desk.) I'll write a brief to the 
Archbishop to that effect. (Does not write.) I had 
long seen the advisability of such action, and had you 
been my real father would have attended to it long 
ago. (Hargrave glares at him.) When would you 
be unfrocked, father? In the morning? I'll respect 
any preference you see fit to name. Well, some morn- 
ing! Most any morning will do. Letters have to 
travel like other people. They would not be well read 
otherwise. 

Hargrave (at other end of the desk). You shall go 
to jail, sir. (Writes furiously.) Or maybe there are 
many charitable organizations only too glad to take 
you off my hands. 

Jack. That remark was cowardly, Mr. Kent. 
You know very w^ell that I am not rich enough to go 
to jail, and that both influence and position are 
required today for a jail career. (Snatches pen away.) 
For the past fortnight a jail has been my prime 
ambition. I have a genius for jails, and I need 
not tell you, Mr. Kent, that I need rest and 
affection. 

Hargrave. Hargrave, Jack, Hargrave! And until 
tonight I must be known by no other name. 

Jack. Please don't call me Jack, father. It sounds 
so unartificial. And to think that I who have always 



Act n The Convolvulus 29 

perceived the immense superiority of a number, 
should have been endowed with a monosyllable like 
that. 

Hargrave. You had a number once, Jack. 

Jack. A number! Is it true, father, or do my 
ears deceive me.^* 

Hargrave (piously). I shall endeavor to spare 
your feelings as far as possible. A young man tasting 
too soon of the bitter fruits of life is apt to form a 
very wrong impression of this world of ours, and the 
inhabitants above it. 

Jack. Oh, people are above everything in this 
world, father, and in the next too, I guess. But have 
I got a number? 

Hargrave. How little you understand! You 
think that I refer to some social distinction, some 
news of your misguided parents. I refer to your 
real parents, Jack. An immoral longing I have 
never had. 

Jack. Oh, everyone's as moral and immoral as he 
knows how to be, father. 

Hargrave (expostulating). Jack! Jack! 

Jack. How often must I tell you not to call me 
that, sir. Even John were better. 

Hargrave (devoutly). It was no desire of mine to 
dig up the past, to unearth that which belonged 
rightly to the dead. Your conduct, however, has 
made the telling inevitable. 

Jack. A telling speech, father. But tell me, have 
I got a number? 

Hargrave (bitterly). You have, sir! You have! 
Allow me to tell you, sir, that you once were, and I 
have no doubt still are, undutifuUy registered at 



30 The Convolvulus Act n 

Crapsey Hall, Canterbury, under the charge of an 
abominable brute by that name, as John — plain John, 
Disciple No. 1, in an evil establishment known as a 
School for Socialism. 

Jack (embracing him wildly). Father! I forgive 
you! Everything! (Kissing him.) Turn the other 
cheek, father. Oh, such luck, such luck! I'll return 
at once. My fortune and future are assured now. 
(Tosses his cap into the air.) And to think that of 
all numbers, I should have been No. 1. 

Hargrave (kindly). You are surely an odd num- 
ber. Jack. 

Jack. Dear Crapsey! I wonder how he came to 
give me that particular number, or if he knew that I 
thought of no one but myself.^ 

Hargrave. I stole you from that heathen Hell — 

Jack. Yes, yes, father. 

Hargrave. And you were the first, last, and only 
little devil ever entered there. 

Jack (crushed). Oh! 

Hargrave. So come, let's to more serious things. 
You said my brother was getting married .^^ 

Jack. It's a man's malady, father. 

Hargrave (suddenly). Jack! I have a thought! 
(Steps forward.) Could it be possible.^ 

Jack. You slight yourself, father. 

Hargrave (meditating). He is not marrying out 
of love. No! My brother would never do that. He 
must be marrying out of his — 

Jack. Out of his senses, father. All men do 
that. 

Hargrave (gyrating in circles). The will! the will! 
Oh, he must know, he must! The estate was left to 



Act n The Convolvulus 31 

him on condition that he was married, and that's 
why he's marrying now. {Pulls large pair of colored 
glasses from his pocket.) The will! Show me the 
will! 

Jack. I knew you hadn't lost them. The old 
rarely lose anything. They have nothing to lose. 

Hargrave {teeming with excitement). The will! 
the will! 

Jack {reaching in hip pockety coat pocket, hip pocket). 
Yes, father. {Repeats the experiment.) No, father. 
{Subsides into chair.) 

Hargrave. Oh, Jack ! He has found it — we are lost. 

Jack {springing to his feet). No, it's not lost. I 
remember, you remember, it is under the tree. I left 
it in the Park this morning. 

Hargrave. No ! 

Jack. Yes. {Makes for door — returns deliberately.) 
You agree to behave in my absence, father? I am very 
popular these days, and if Jane or Kathryn should 
happen in — 

Hargrave. Jane! Did you say Jane! I have a 
particular aversion to that name. Jack. I trust that 
no woman named Jane bears any relationship to 
Kathryn? 

Jack. Only her mother. 

Hargrave. Her mother? Her name, please ! Even 
now I trace a resemblance, a terrible resemblance. 
Tell me her name! 

Jack. Her name's the same as Kathryn's, of course. 
I only ask you to leave the whole family alone here- 
after. They did not even know you existed until this 
afternoon. You were a creation of my fancy and had 
form, color and expression. And now you have ruined 



32 The Convolvulus Act H 

it all. All, father, because you will not wear your 
glasses. 

Hargrave. I don't know Kathryn's name. She 
never told me and I never asked. 

Jack. Kathryn's name is Kathryn Gibbs, her 
aunt's name is Gloria Gibbs, and her mother's name 
is Jane Gibbs. Jane's a jewel, Gloria's an idiot, and 
Kathryn's mine. Have you learned all that you 
want now, or must I tell you more.^^ 

Hargrave (in a most melancholy voice). Jack, 
this is terrible. I had never expected that. Jane 
Gibbs! 

Jack. The name's no worse than Jack, father. 
Too bad Jane's not a socialist, and could exchange for 
a number. 

Hargrave. She is a socialist, Jack. Oh, a horrible, 
horrible socialist! Did I never tell you of a woman .f^ 
whose views of life — 

Jack. Are not so antiquated as your own, sir? 
(There comes a tinkle of the bell, a second and a third.) 
But come, father, one should always give in to the 
inevitable, and I have chosen Jane as your most likely 
spouse. 

Hargrave. I will not marry that woman! I will 
not! (Jack throws open the door and Jane enters. 
She has on a gown of many colors and a hat of many 
heights.) 

Jack. Ah, Jane! So glad to see you! I've just 
been speaking to father about that matter we dis- 
cussed and he's quite interested already. Fact is, 
father's always interested, though interesting he is not. 
I've taken him to task about that blunder, though. 
Father's a bull for blunders. In the morning I've 



Act n The Convolvulus 33 

suggested that he be unfrocked. You'll be there of 
course? Great sight. {Facing about.) Why don't you 
say something, father ! Or should fathers be seen and 
not heard .f^ But perhaps you desire an introduction. 
Jane — my father. My father — Jane Gibbs. {Each 
are about to shake hands, but Jack's body intervenes and 
he rambles on.) The family problem is the most 
important product of this age, and ranks even higher 
than the servant question. Of course, fathers were 
fashionable at one time, or I never should have had 
one. It's a great fault, though, I admit. 

Jane {loosening wrap). My faults are my fortune. 
Jack. Some people are even famous for them. 

Jack. Ravishing, Jane, ravishing! {Plays with 
dress, avoiding Hargrave.) But perhaps I should go. 

Jane. Probably you should go. Jack. 

Hargrave. It is not problematical at all. It is 
obvious, sir. (Jack runs around the table.) My son 
has a roving nature, Jane; it is almost poetical. I've 
just advised an interview with a certain tree, a rather 
poetical tree. He is a near poet, you know. 

Jack {bowing). A minor poet only, not yet being 
of age. 

Jane. Do not make fun of the minor poets, Jack. 
Leave that to the newspapers. They foster them. 

Hargrave {apologetic). My son had good intentions. 

Jack. Heaven is filled with good intentions, father. 
{To Jane.) Chesterton says that poets are a trouble 
to their families. But then Chesterton is always 
wrong. If the families of real poets are anything like 
mine, the trouble rests with them. 

Jane. Hurry, Jack, the tree may be gone. {Crosses 
L. and seats herself in the armchair.) 



34 The Convolvulus Act U 

Jack. My interview will prove a very short one. 
(Pulls out watch.) Before long, father, I shall expect 
you to have arranged everything. 

Hargrave (in a conciliatory manner). You said 
that her sister was an idiot, did you not? 

Jack. I did, father. 

Hargrave (toriting on cuff). It may prove of 
importance. (Shuts door on him. A whistling sound is 
heard as Jack leisurely descends the stairs. Hargrave 
returns to Jane. Her taking the larger chair upsets 
him very much. There is a moment's lapse in which 
they look at each other.) 

Jane. How very still it is here, Peter. I feel 
almost as if I were in the country — in the country 
that we both knew so well before our hearts had 
learned to beat. 

Hargrave (rising to the sentimentality of the occa- 
sion). My heart is bigger than its beat, Jane. 

Jane. Ah, but you have been in this country 
many days, and you never once wrote to tell me. 
We should have been glad to see you, all of us, even 
Dill — that's my butler — but he's almost one of the 
family. 

Hargrave (scowling). I came to America from a 
sense of duty, Jane, and it has completely absorbed 
my time. I came to find my brother. 

Jane. You never told me you had a brother. You 
left that for your son to do. 

Hargrave. Then Jack has told you. 

Jane. Yes. 

Hargrave. The fact is, Jane, that I have never 
spoken very much of my brother to anyone. The 
poor fellow eloped just before I met you, and our 



Act n The Convolvulus 35 

recollection of him has always been a sad one. Sadder 
still has been my present duty to investigate and find 
that he is dead. 

Jane (ironically). The Peter Kent that I knew had 
very Uttle sense of duty. Often I thought that he 
had none at all. But he was not the Peter Hargrave 
that I see now. He was not a minister, and he did 
not lie. He was not a hypocrite and he did not 
masquerade under a false name to swindle his own 
brother, his living brother whom he pretended to think 
dead. 

Hargrave {surprised and sullen). It is not 
true. 

Jane. It is true! Your son told me. 

Hargrave. Jack is not my son. He is only mine 
by adoption. 

Jane. He told me that too, but he also told me 
about your brother. You met him this very morning 
in the Park. 

Hargrave. I admit that. But till this very 
very morning I believed my brother was dead, as dead 
as my own father is today. And now how does he 
show himself! As a man with whom one would care 
to associate? (With sudden inspiration.) No, as a 
thief, an unrepentant, petty thief; and Jack will tell 
you that also. 

Jane (a little taken aback). How did you happen 
to call him Jack, Peter .^ I think John were infini- 
tesimally nicer. 

Hargrave. Jack would hardly have had a name 
at all if it hadn't been for me. He might have had 
nothing but a number. 

Jane. A number? 



36 The Convolvulus Act H 

Hargrave. Yes, a number! I found him the very 
morning after you sailed, Jane, a babe in arms, bound 
heart and soul to a School for Socialism. 

Jane (eagerly). A School for Socialism! Where, 
Peter? 

Hargrave (complacently). At Canterbury, under 
the direction of — 

Jane (beside herself with excitement). Of a most 
eminent man, a charming gentleman by the name of — 

Hargrave. Under the direction of a wholly worth- 
less, degraded rascal, who has dogged my footsteps 
from that day to this, who has even threatened my 
life, and who has been the one and only cause of my 
assuming the name of Hargrave. 

Jane. His name? 

Hargrave. His name is Crapsey! And he has 
even followed me to this country. 

Jane. Oh! (Sinks into chair.) 

Hargrave. When I stole him from that pernicious 
place, his sole mark of identification was John, plain 
John, Disciple No. 1, in Crapsey 's School for Socialism. 
(Bell rings overhead.) 

Jane. You stole him, Peter, and your act was as 
free to censure as any committed by your brother. 

Hargrave. Ssh ! 

Jane. I won't be still. I want to tell you right 
now. 

Hargrave (terrified). There's someone at the 
door. 

Jane. I don't care. They can hear too if they 
want to. (Gets up.) 

Hargrave. Consider my position, Jane. I couldn't 
really ... I couldn't have a woman in my 



Act n The Convolvulus 37 

rooms. There, there, now! (Takes her arm.) You 
are all flushed — and the rouge is beginning to come 
off. (Jane instantly subsides.) This is my son's 
room. You may rest here for a while ... or 
at least until my visitors have gone. (Boiving com- 
placently.) Love lingers in the spring and doubtless 
they are only some happy couple tasting for the first 
time that desire for the fruits of marriage which is 
the divine purport of our youth. (Shuts door securely 
on her. Sighs with relief and wipes his glasses carefully. 
Then after a moment's conflict with his vanity, returns 
and places them on the table. This done he tiptoes to 
the door and apparently observing but one person, shouts 
down the stairs.) Come in, sir! (Dill's head appears 
immediately through the opening, quite startling Har- 
GRAVE who retreats before it. Dill still wears knicker- 
bockers and a wondrous black cape falls from his massive 
shoulders. On second appearance he is followed by 
Gloria, dressed in her very best and carrying a large 
colored satchel. She is somewhat out of sorts at the 
delay and is coaxed and fondled by Dill.) 

Hargrave (bowing). Ah, two strolling minstrels, 
I perceive. 

Dill (punctiliously). No, sir. No, sir. We under- 
stood that you were a minister, sir. 

Hargrave (his hands clasped behind his back). My 
heart and home are ever at the disposal of my 
flock. 

Gloria (motioning Dill to be still). You'll excuse 
the nature of our visit, sir, but you see my husband 
(blushes a little) — or rather I should have said the 
man who is to be my husband — 

Dill (to Gloria). Both, my love, both. 



38 The Convolvulus Act H 

Gloria (bluntly). There was no time to be lost and 
we must get married. 

Hargrave. Ah, love is a tender thing, and her 
call is always urgent. 

Dill. I overheard your son observe that you are 
to be unfrocked, sir — and so we just thought we'd 
take you while there was still time. (Aside.) There's 
only one time for marriage, and that's when the lady 
gives her consent. 

Hargrave (now scowling and suspicious). My 
son? 

Gloria. Dillingham, you are always rendering 
the most unpleasant surprises. (At mention of his 
brother's name, Hargrave stands stupefied, then with 
a fleeting glance over his shoulder, rushes back to the 
table and adjusts his glasses.) Perhaps Mr. Hargrave 
does not care to acknowledge that he has a son, and 
what you said about being unfrocked was ungentle- 
manly. (Hargrave glares at Dill and stations himself 
in front of Jane's door.) 

Hargrave (trembling with emotion) Do I under- 
stand, sir, that you trespass upon my hearth enter- 
taining visions of matrimony .f^ (Dill and Gloria 
are stupefied by Hargrave' s peculiar behavior.) 

Dill (very sweetly). That's it, sir. 

Hargrave. Then I take pleasure to inform you, 
sir, that it cannot be done. 

Dill. But it must be done, sir. I have made a 
careful canvass of the ministry, and I find them all 
to be extinct at present, sir. They're like the birds 
and butterflies, sir, and are forever migrating at this 
season of the year. You're the only one that hasn't 
wings at present, sir. 



Act n The Convolvulus 39 

Gloria. Be quiet, Dill. It*s love that makes the 
world go around, Mr. Hargrave. 

Hargrave. It's love that makes the world stand 
still, I say. Besides, in this country at least marriage 
is illegal. The Constitution expressly provides that no 
man shall be deprived of the right of health, happiness, 
and the pursuit of freedom. 

Gloria. That's why we are going to change the 
Constitution, Mr. Hargrave. 

Hargrave. Anyway there's no room here. A 
correct marriage requires space for tears and relatives. 

Dill {in the corner). I think we might try it here, 
sir. 

Hargrave (superciliously). I am not in favor of 
trial marriages. Marriage itself is responsible for 
the alarming decrease in the birth-rate so prevalent 
throughout the world. 

Gloria (sweetly). I think Mr. Hargrave is super- 
stitious, dear. 

Hargrave (snatching at the straw). I am. I am. 

Dill. I always try to harbor superstitions in the 
heart, sir, and to remove them as far from the mind 
as possible. 

Hargrave (advancing with a crafty smile). Ah, 
well ! So be it then. My own experience with marriage 
is limited. However I will say this much for it. If 
it weren't for marriage a man could not honorably 
part with a woman. 

Gloria (in a low voice). I said Mr. Hargrave was 
the proper person to apply to, Dill. 

Hargrave. We will first examine the license. 

Gloria. License.'^ 

Hargrave (in the most insulting manner). All 



40 The Convolvulus Act n 

women are not licensed in this country I am sorry to 
say. In that the continental custom is far better. 
However, before they are married they must be 
Hcensed. At any rate do you think we should have 
them running around at large? 

Dill. Here is the license, sir. 

Hargrave (examining it critically). I don't see 
your ages here. 

Dill. We are both forty. (Gloria is about to 
remonstrate.) 

Hargrave. Hm — really, sir, I must object to that. 
I myself am forty and should not dream of marrying 
yet. You are both far too young. 

Dill. If you insist, sir, I am a little over forty. 

Hargrave (squinting). And your names are.? 

Gloria. Gloria Gibbs. 

Dill. Sir John Dillingham Kent. 

Hargrave. Do I infer that you are a gentleman? 

Dill. Oh, yes, sir. Even my brother was that. 

Hargrave. And your social standing? 

Gloria (whispering loudly). Bart, Dill, Bart! 

Dill. Br . . . butler. 

Hargrave. That settles it. I cannot marry a 
butler posing as a gentleman. (Acts as if about to show 
them out.) 

Gloria. There is nothing in the Bible which says 
anything against marrying a butler, Mr. Hargrave. 
Pharaoh's chief adviser was a butler, as you yourself 
know. (There is no Bible to be seen and she stares at 
Hargrave deprecatingly.) 

Hargrave (eyeing Dill as if choking would be a 
pleasure). And Pharaoh hung him by the neck, if I 
am not mistaken. 



Act n The Convolvulus 41 

Dill. The baker, sir, the baker. Very mixing 
indeed, sir. 

Hargrave. As God is my baker — I mean my maker 
— I swear that I will have nothing further to do with 
the case. Under the most favorable conditions I can 
imagine my marrying a butler, or even a baker, for 
that matter, but with due respect to you. Miss Gibbs, 
I must (glances at cuff) decline to marry a butler, or 
even Pharaoh himself, to an idiot. The laws of hygiene 
govern that. 

Dill. Sir! 

Hargrave. My son has already informed me, 
Miss Gibbs, that you are an idiot, and I for one 
refuse to perform at any ceremony in which you are 
the principal. 

Gloria (opening satchel). Mediocrity may be the 
foundation of my family, sir, but idiocy is not. How- 
ever, I was prepared for that. I have found your 
son something of a clever idiot himself, and first 
accurate deductions led me to the belief that his 
father would be also. (Pulls out paper.) I have here 
complete and accurate credentials to certify that I 
have never suffered from Christian Science, Mental 
Science, Physical Science, Woman Suffrage, Eugenics, 
or any of the other seven deadly diseases so preva- 
lent amongst my sex. I have also fully recorded a 
memorandum of the character and chief events of 
my life, including ventilation, vivisection, vaccination, 
marriage — 

Hargrave. Marriage! (He gazes profoundly at 
them.) 

Gloria. This is my second marriage, Mr. Har- 
grave. 



42 The Convolvulus Act n 

Dill {apologetically). We have both been married 
before, sir. You see, sir — 

Hargrave. I see. Are you calhng attention to 
my glasses? 

Dill. The fact is that we have each been married 
to each other, sir. 

Hargrave {drawing himself haughtily together) . Am 
I to gather that that is any evidence of her sanity? I 
say it's absurd. Any scientist in the country will 
tell you that a perfectly sane, healthy, well-organized 
marriage must end somewhere. All things do, and 
marriages have the habit, good or otherwise, of ending 
in divorce. It's their affinity. 

Dill. Ah! But our marriage was annulled, sir. 
{Looks about him confident that victory is won.) 

Hargrave. To you, sir, I owe an apology. When 
I informed Miss Gibbs of my decision in this impor- 
tant case, I had entirely overlooked you. Your mar- 
riage was annulled, you say? 

Dill. I do, sir. 

Hargrave. And you are starting proceedings all 
over again? 

Dill {now dubious of his mastery of the situation). 
Yes, sir. 

Hargrave. In that event I substantially alter my 
original assertion. I said she was an idiot, did I not? 

Gloria. And I can prove to the contrary, Mr. 
Hargrave. 

Hargrave. Any man or woman, not willing, but 
eager — as you have both shown yourselves to be — 
to repeat so dangerous an experiment, is clearly removed 
from that extremity of the body which we call mind. 
It is not a question of one idiot — you are both idiots. 



Act II The Convolvulus 43 

Dill. Is not that a bit of an exaggeration, sir? 

Hargrave. I think not. 

Dill. I am sorry that Mr. Hargrave's son is not 
here, love. I know he would marry us. 

Gloria. It's no use. Dill. Show Mr. Hargrave 
the will, and explain why we must be married. (Sound 
of Jack on the stairs.) 

Hargrave. Yes, the will! Show me the will! 
(Reaches out for it.) 

Jack. Father! I cannot find it! The will is lost! 
(Bursts upon them.) 

Gloria (after a painful pause). What will, Mr. 
Hargrave? You seem extremely nervous. Can there 
be any relation between your will and ours? (Har- 
grave looks very faint.) 

Dill. I don't know if there is any relation between 
the wills, my dear, but Mr. Jack said that his father 
took me for his brother. Of course Mr. Hargrave 
didn't know that my name was Kent. However, I 
had an uncle named Hargrave, and in case my brother 
is dead, one half of the estate shall be his. 

Hargrave (buoyant at this turn of affairs). I am 
Peter Kent, your brother, your long missing brother! 
(Embraces him.) 

Gloria. When a woman does not change her 
name for love she does so for money. It is true some- 
times of a man. I see now why Mr. Hargrave changed 
his name and why he refuses to marry us. He shall 
not get a cent. (To Dill.) I think that you knew 
all the while that Mr. Hargrave was your brother, 
and that you chose to be married by a thief. (Har- 
grave's expression has changed.) 

Jane (stepping out). Mr. Hargrave changed his 



44 The Convolvulus Act n 

name solely for my sake. We are going to be married, 
and I preferred Hargrave to Kent. That may be 
remedied, however. As for his brother — he did think 
him dead for he told me so himself. 

Jack. You have done this for my sake.^^ 

Gloria. For whoever 's sake you did it, Jane, I 
am glad you have got a husband at last — even if 
you did it for your own. Come, Dill. 

Dill. I should like to spend a few moments with 
my brother, my own. 

Gloria. Well, not more than a very few moments. 
(To Jane.) The two dears look absolutely alike, and 
when you get tired of yours we might change them 
around a bit. 

Jane. Are you coming. Jack.? 

Jack I'm tired of all this moving around, Jane. 
I haven't sat down for five minutes. 

Jane. Well, just to the door. (They go out. Dill 
seats himself comfortably in the big chair.) 

Dill. Charming little artificial nook here. Shaw 
says — 

Hargrave. Do not jest about artificial things, sir. 
Browne avers that all things are artificial, nature being 
only the art of God. 

Dill. Browne ! Browne ! No relation to Browning, 
sir? Pardon me. Of course; Browning's the diminu- 
tive, Browne naturally the father. 

Hargrave. Of no relationship whatever. I had 
reference to Sir Thomas Browne. 

Dill. Ah! A man with a title. One of God's 
favorites, sir, and possibly some relation of my own. 
(Enter Kathryn. She is very much out of breath and 
holds an open letter in her hand.) 



Act II The Convolvulus 45 

Kathryn (between gasps). Of course, I always 
knew I had a father. Every young girl has, and it 
would be considered most unnatural not to. (She is 
shielded by the angle of the room from Dill.) And I 
always knew he was a horrid, horrid, man, too. Aunt 
Gloria confessed that. (Dill, hearing Kathryn's 
voice, has risen.) But at least I thought he was a gentle- 
man (Dill takes a step toward her), and I never, never 
dreamed it could be Dill. (They come face to face.) 
Oh! (Turns away.) 

Hargrave (turning threateningly). What is your 
social standing. Dill, I forget.^ 

Dill (abashed and discomforted). A butler, sir. 

Hargrave. Don't cry, dear, Dill is only a butler 
after all, and not at all responsible for what he does. 
(Kathryn had not thought of crying — but Hargrave 
thought she should have.) It is your mother who is 
to blame — your mother! That will do. Dill. (Forcing 
him back.) This is the servant's exit. 

Dill (absolutely unhappy). Miss Kathryn, let me 
explain ! 

Hargrave. You may explain to Miss Gibbs, 
Dill; perhaps she will defer marrying you now. 
(Pushes him out. Dill carries a wounded look away 
with him.) 

Dill (clattering down the stairs). My brother was a 
gentleman. (Jane and Jack enter leisurely by the 
front.) 

Jack (taking in situation at a glance). Is this your 
work, sir? Have you proposed to her again, or what? 

Hargrave (to Jane). Kathryn is for the first 
time aware of her father. I need not say that neither 
butler nor baker is considered the thing in a family 



46 The Convolvulus Act n 

way. To find such a man one's brother is indeed an 
unpleasant surprise, but to find him one's father 
must be a tragedy. We both feel the blow more 
deeply than you think. 

Kathryn {very haughtily). You need not feel the 
blow at all, Mr. Hargrave. I am already half resigned 
to my parent, and by tomorrow I have no doubt that 
he will be in good standing again. My only regret 
from the first was that you cannot take his place, 
and that Dill can now be nothing more than a father 
to me. 

Jack {taking her arm). There, there, my dear! 
All fathers are terrible, and I know yours could never 
be as bad as mine. {He regards no one hut her.) I 
positively never think of anything he says unless by 
accident, nor must you either. And should the very 
worst come to pass you must always console yourself 
by remembering that we are none of us responsible 
for the species, either adopted or otherwise. {They go 
out.) 

Hargrave. Kathryn took her father very nicely. 
{Sets himself for a scene.) I am sorry I do not share 
her strength. 

Jane. One-half of strength is weakness. 

Hargrave. And the other half.? 

Jane. That is weakness. 

Hargrave. It is obvious, Jane, that you are 
incorrigible. Your daughter did not bid you good-bye. 
Can you blame her.? This social evil, Jane, is far 
more than a harmless pleasure, as you once expressed 
it. 

Jane {languidly). Kathryn is not my daughter. 
She is my adopted daughter. Gloria is her mother. 



Act n The Convolvulus 47 

Hargrave (beside her). Jane, forgive me! How 
could I have guessed? 

Jane. You are far too serious, Peter. Perhaps it 
is something that you eat. 

Hargrave. I swallowed a whole tooth yesterday. I 
don't know just what the consequences are going to be. 

Jane. You may get a tooth-ache, Peter. And 
again you may go to the dentist's. 

Hargrave. I'd rather go to the dogs, Jane. I 
have already a hundred holes in my head that were 
made by those fellows. 

Jane (running her hands through his hair). Your 
hair is long, Peter; far too long for married life. I 
have a marvellous tonic. It was recommended to me 
by no less than three physicians, and is guaranteed 
to make your hair fall out so quickly that you will 
positively never have to have it cut. 

Hargrave. I remember it all now, Jane — the 
fields that we wandered together — and the Convolvulus, 
that little white flower that we picked and loved. 

Jane. Recite that about the lilies of the field, and 
the birds of the sky, will you, Peter? It was always 
my favorite. 

Hargrave. I didn't suppose you knew so much 
about the Bible, Jane. 

Jane. I know something of birds, Peter. 

Hargrave. You have always been my Convol- 
vulus, Jane. Can you believe that? 

Jane. It's a funny thing, Peter, but in love one 
never doubts, and the loved one never tells the truth. 

Hargrave (suddenly). How beautiful you are, 
Jane! You look just as you did in the days of old — 
with your little hands and feet. 



48 The Convolvulus Act II 

Jane (jumping up and covering them). Oh, my 
feet have grown, Peter. 

Hargrave. I remember, Jane; in the olden days 
you would do anything but marry me. 

Jane. Now that is the only thing I will do for you. 
(Puts chair between them.) 

CURTAIN. 



ACT III 

Scene — Reverting to Act I. Dill and Gloria facing 
each other. (They are surrounded by two diminutive 
trunks and bags and bundles innumerable.) 

Dill. Let us read the will again, dear. 

Gloria (pompously). *' Regretting my anger and 
the annulment of his marriage — to my second son, 
John Dillingham Kent, be he found to have married 
any woman, good, bad or indifferent, the same wife 
or any other — " (with a toss of her head) — You wouldn't 
have married any other woman, Dill? 

Dill. No, no, my love. 

Gloria. *'To him I hereby bequeath my honor- 
able title of baronet, conferred upon me by the crown 
as a reward for my stand against the nefarious practise 
of socialism, particularly that which has broken out 
and appeared on the point of flourishing in ye good and 
ancient city of Canterbury. Also to himself and wife, 
do they make known their identity within one year's 
time, I hereby release my rights, vested or otherwise, 
in all personal property, including three white-tailed 
cows" — You may milk the cows, Dill. 

Dill. Charmed, my love. 

Gloria. "Seventeen adults of the porcupine 
variety, commonly known as pigs, but derived from 
the German bigge, or big." 

Dill. You may ride the pigs, my lady. 
(49) 



50 The Convolvulus Act m 

Gloria {with a severe look at Dill who subsides), 
"Forty-three geese, seven singing birds, nine parrots 
and two hens." 

Dill. The estate has all the enchantment of a 
zoo, my love. 

Gloria. "To my only other relation, the Rev. 
Peter Kent, who much to my displeasure has taken 
upon himself that right of interpreting the Lord*s 
intentions on earth, I give nothing. He is an undutiful 
son, but should he still possess one spark of parental 
affection, let him go forth to America, that land of 
beautiful women, and by diligent search for his own 
beloved brother, prove himself worthy of no title at all, 
but the rank of a gentleman." (Hands Dill the will.) 

Dill. Am I a gentleman? (Bows like a courtier.) 

Gloria. Yes, Dill. 

Dill. Is he a gentleman.^ 

Gloria. No, Dill. 

Dill (decisively). He shall have nothing. 

Gloria. No, Dill. 

Dill. Nor the chickens, nor the cows, nor even 
one of the — what was that derivation, my dear? 

Gloria. Of the pigs? 

Dill. Yes, love. 

Gloria. Do not make fun of the Germans, Dill, I 
had an aunt born in Germany and I fear she is living yet. 

Dill. Can they neither live nor die in Germany, 
my sweet? 

Gloria. I think not, Dill . . . But would 
you not even give him one teeney-weeney pig? (Dill 
stands in front of Gloria, seriously debating this all- 
important matter.) 

Dill (at length). No, my love. 



Act HE The Convolvulus 51 

Gloria. Not one. Dill? Think of the sorrow we 
have already caused him! There are two misfortunes 
in life. One is to find one's relations quite, quite 
dead. The other is, as one generally does, to find 
them quite, quite, alive. 

Dill {moodily). He said I was not a gentleman and 
shall get nothing. 

Gloria {rising). Ah, Dill, you would not be vin- 
dictive .^^ I could never believe my husband guilty of 
that. Moreover, I have a vast superabundance of 
money myself. 

Dill {shocked and hurt). Oh, my love! You might 
have told me, even if you did not give me any. 

Gloria. It was necessary that you, of all people, 
should know nothing of it. People would have thought 
you were marrying me for money. 

Dill {not wholly reconciled). True, true. 

Gloria. I have something to tell you. 

Dill. Concerning me.^^ 

Gloria. No, it is a very sensitive subject. I 
don't think that either of us has mentioned it since 
the day that we were born; and Jane has aged so 
rapidly that it would seem absurd on the surface of 
things — but she and I are twins. 

Dill. One soon becomes reconciled to realities, 
my dear. {Sighs and looks at his jacket.) 

Gloria. It has taken me more than twenty years 
to become reconciled to you, Dill. But now for a 
surprise. {She goes jR., J^ill following solemnly behind 
her. He is like a big St. Bernard dog following his mis- 
tress. Gloria tramps back. Dill again several paces 
in the rear.) See! Here it is! {Opens a small bag of 
gold.) I was forty yesterday. Now all this is mine. 



52 The Convolvulus Act m 

Dill (with a lump in his throat). Yes, my love. 

Gloria. So you are not yet independent, Dill. 

Dill (swallowing his unhappiness) . No, my love. 

Gloria. It was left me by my father. 

Dill. Ah, I see. And Jane.^ 

Gloria. No. (Whispering.) I think my sister got 
nothing. I was always my father's favorite daughter. 

Dill (discarding his jacket) . I am no longer a butler. 
No, I will not. My brother may be a butler if you like. 

Gloria (sharply). Dill! 

Dill (forgetting his good resolutions). Yes, my love. 

Gloria. We have lived here very happily. Dill. 

Dill. And now I will build you a castle among the 
clouds. We will be like the moon and the stars. 

Gloria. Aeroplaning is out of fashion, Dill. 

Dill. As you would have it, my love. 

Gloria. For twenty years you have executed my 
orders. 

Dill (with revived ardor). And now a hundred men 
shall do your bidding ! We will go to the extreme ends 
of the earth — 

Gloria. I do not approve of extremes of any 
kind. Dill. The most important thing in life is that 
whatever a young man once starts he should see to 
the end. 

Dill. But I hold a title, my sweet. 

Gloria. No matter. You were not born with it. 

Dill. I never heard of a titled butler. (Shakes his 
head dubiously.) My brother has not got a title. 

Gloria (sharply). Dill! Do you love me? 

Dill. Ah, how could you doubt it.? 

Gloria. I have never doubted it. I was only 
testing you. (Hands him bag.) All this is yours, Dill. 



Act ni The Convolvulus 53 

Dill. My love, my love. (Kneels.) 

Gloria. On condition that you continue to serve 
me as faithfully as you have in the past. 

Dill (clasping her hands). Ah, my beloved one! 
Light of my life! Blessed of women! (His head sinks 
upon her lap. Enter Kathryn and Jack. Each has 
an arm about the other's waist. Their eyes are glued on 
each other's, and they proceed very, very slowly.) 

Jack. My dear, you could hardly expect them both 
to belong to the same class. That is never the way. 
One is always rich, the other poor. One is always 
good, the other bad. Ask one of them and see! But 
if what I tell you is not convincing, consider the words 
of Shakespeare, England's great minor poet, who in a 
fit of melancholy once exclaimed — *'Some are born 
with parents, others acquire them. But most of us 
just have the genus thrust upon us." (Gloria is 
unsuccessfully endeavoring to extricate herself from her 
embarrassing position.) 

Kathryn. Jack, you really should not speak that 
way of England's poet. Your own father told me 
this morning that no man could hope to understand 
Shakespeare until he was forty. And that then he 
wouldn't understand him. 

Jack. I don't doubt it. But you forget, Kathryn, 
that I never had a father, and that hereafter my 
responsibilities are numbered. (They wheel slowly upon 
them.) 

Kathryn. Oh — father ! 

Jack. What an extraordinary posture. Dill! Are 
you aware of your menial. Miss Gibbs? (To Kathryn.) 
He must think it's a circus. He's trying to stand on 
his head. 



54 The Convolvulus Act m 

Kathryn {looking away). Perhaps he's praying. 

Jack. Arise, sir, in the presence of your superiors! 
(Dill gets up very guiltily.) And why these bags and 
bundles, pray.? Is your man about to start a millinery 
establishment, Miss Gibbs.? 

Gloria (almost in tears). Mr. Hargrave! This 
gentleman is not my servant. This gentleman is soon 
to be my husband! 

Jack. It's the same thing. 

Kathryn (shocked). Oh! What would mother say! 
I don't think I can ever allow you to become a butler 
after all, Jack. 

Jack (glibly). Dill, are you a polygamist, or what.? 
Define yourself! (To Kathryn.) I have yet to hear 
of a menial Mormon. 

Kathryn. I am sure that mother will discharge 
him now. 

Gloria. Kathryn, I am your mother! If you 
referred to my sister, I can only say that she is your 
mother by adoption, that I suffered your adoption 
solely because my time was taken up with my husband 
and — (tearfully) Oh, you have no maternal instinct 
whatever! I am sorry I ever brought you into the 
world, you have saddened my life so completely. 

Dill (comforting Gloria who is in hysteria). There, 
there, my own — 

Gloria. That you whom I have loved as my own 
child should object to your father, should be ashamed 
of him who has waited upon your every want — oh, 
it is terrible. 

Kathryn. Mother, you don't understand. I have 
always liked Dill, and don't object to him at all. In 
fact, I think it would be rather nice to keep him always 



Act ni The Convolvulus 55 

with us, and always, always . . . (Dill turns 
pale) as a butler. (To Jack.) Men are wont to 
become oppressive when granted authority, and I feel 
sure that Dill could never succeed as well at anything 
else. 

Jack. You are always right, my dear, but see to 
it at once. Contracts have ceased to be binding, and 
what you want is a verbal understanding with your 
mother. 

Gloria (embracing them). My children, I forgive 
you! As for Dill — that is settled. 

Dill (to Kathryn). My money! (Hands her bag.) 

Kathryn. Beautiful, ideal money! (To Jack.) I 
think he shows signs of submission already. 

Dill (to Jack). My will! (Hands him the will.) 

Jack. I warned you about that. Dill. I said a 
will was a very unsafe thing to have. 

Dill. My broken heart and soul! (Hands that to 
Gloria.) Oh, take everything! (Falls back into a 
chair and buries his head in his hands.) 

Jack (to Kathryn). A man is at least your friend 
who gives you money. No other friends get along 
these days, or amount to anything. 

Gloria. My dears, I agree with both of you. Your 
father has enough money as it is, and any more would 
surely spoil him. (To Jack.) I don't think husbands 
should be allowed titles. Mine I know would squander 
his. Moreover, in England the women have already 
gotten their rights or are about to get them, which is 
almost as bad. And when we women get the vote, 
if there are titles left, they shall certainly belong to us. 
You may keep the will. Jack, I assure you it is utterly 
worthless, and probably recorded all over the country. 



56 The Convolvulus Act HI 

{He and Kathryn stroll of. Gloria turns upon Dill.) 
I don't mind about your heart, for if it's broken you 
couldn't use it, and I don't mind about the soul part 
either, for I don't think you have one. But I do 
seriously object to your wasting your money. {Turns 
her hack to him.) You'll never amount to anything. 

Dill. I have been always most saving, my dear. 

Gloria. Less saving than spent, Dill. 

Kathryn (tossing her latest gift into the air) . Lovely, 
spiritual money. We can be married now, and you 
won't have to work as a stoker in the ship after all. 

Jack. Positively, my dear, I never dreamed of 
such a thing! 

Kathryn (pouting). Of course, I never could have 
allowed you to. You might have upset us all, and I'm 
not going to be drowned for love or any other nonsense. 

Jack. But, my dear, if I upset the ship, it would 
be your duty to get drowned. Any old captain will 
tell you that. They know absolutely nothing. It's 
like any other walk of life. A man wears whiskers, or 
white hair, or something, and you fancy he's learned. 
But he's not, and never will be. Sea-captains dress 
as they do, and wear peculiar caps, not that they 
should look like sea-captains, but that young innocent 
persons like yourself should be deceived into thinking 
them philosophers, or good men, or bad men, or some 
kind of men at least. That explains the old and 
venerable expression of thinking through your cap. 
But it's all wrong. They never think at all. 

Kathryn. I've often gone fishing, Jack, and I've 
never yet caught a fish. Do you think there are any 
fishes in the sea, or is it just a myth like mermaids and 
the millennium? 



Act m The Convolvulus 57 

Jack. That is purely a piscatorial problem. My 
father is doubtless a proper authority. I know he 
drinks Hke a fish, and he eats Hke a race horse. (Dill 
has been left entirely to his own reflections.) 

Gloria. What are you two over there saying about 
running away? 

Jack (advancing solemnly). Miss Gibbs, I have 
something to tell you. (Sits down and with knees 
crossed nonchalantly lights cigarette.) I have no money, 
of course. Nobody has these days. The philanthro- 
pists have stolen it all. 

Kathryn (handing him money bag). Of course not. 
Jack, how absurd! But this will surely pay off some 
of your debts. 

Jack. Very few, my dear. You don't know what 
debts are. Debts are a man's constant reminder that 
even when he's very, very rich, one-half the money 
in his pocket, and all the money in his bank, belongs 
positively to somebody else. 

Gloria. I seriously object to your morals. Jack. 

Jack. Surely you would not blame me for that 
which I never had? 

Dill. As the lady's father, I must at least inquire 
of your habits, sir. 

Jack. I have no habits; even the good ones are 
bad enough, and the bad ones are so hard to follow 
out. 

Kathryn. I quite approve so far. Jack. 

Jack. I never vote. 

Gloria. I have yet to know the man who did. 
That's why they don't want us to. 

Jack. And I am proud to say that I have never 
done even a single stroke of work. 



58 The Convolvulus Act m 

Kathryn. Oh! But you really must take up some 
useful occupation, Jack, and go downtown very early 
in the morning and come back very late every night. 
Married life would be impracticable otherwise. One 
could stand a husband in the morning and evening, 
but a whole day added to each night would be out 
of the question. 

Jack. You don't understand. Business today is 
done under very bad principles. The proper way, in 
truth, the only way that a young man of my tempera- 
ment could be induced to begin work, would be to 
start right up at the top and go right down to the 
bottom. It takes so much less time and trouble than 
the old way of beginning at the bottom and stealing 
one's way up to the top. Besides, one is just that much 
more likely to land somewhere. 

Kathryn. I wish that I were a man. Here you 
stand wasting my time talking, when in a few weeks 
you might learn to be a messenger boy, and grow right 
up into a millionaire. 

Jack. I'm not old enough for a messenger boy, 
Kathryn. Messenger boys are never successful until 
they become at least fifty and have long white 
hair. Mine is a very firm yellow. I inherited it from 
my mother. 

Gloria. I thought you and Kathryn were having 
an innocent flirtation only. {To Dill.) Men are 
so deceiving. 

Jack. There's no such thing as an innocent flirta- 
tion, Gloria. Naturally I shall have a great deal of 
trouble convincing you of my love for your daughter. 
I had expected that. When a man arrives at my age 
of indescretion, love is no longer to be thought of. 



Act m The Convolvulus 59 

Gloria. Mr. Kent and I are no longer young, sir, 
though we have been long in love. 

Kathryn {to herself). Kathryn Kent! What a 
pretty name. (Strolls off.) 

Gloria (sharply). I'm afraid you're thinking. Dill. 
I am often aware of a most unpleasant sensation 
whenever you indulge in that. 

Dill. I am, my love, I usually am. 

Kathryn. There's no use going further, Jack. It 
can't be done. 

Jack (going to her). What can't be done, my dear.^ 
I think that rather a revolutionary sentiment, your 
saying a thing can't be done, especially before trying 
it. 

Kathryn. The name, Jack, the name! There's no 
use in losing that. 

Jack. What name, dear? 

Kathryn. Why, Kent, of course! I never could 
marry a man named Hargrave. 

Jack (taking her hand tenderly). Poor Kathryn! 
So busy exchanging relations, she's completely for- 
gotten my name. I told you my name was really 
Kent. It's as really Kent as yours is. 

Kathryn (still dazed). Ah, so you did! (Goes over 
to sofa. 'Dill follows — she plays with him with a piece 
of string.) 

Jack. And I told you that I had a number too. 
(To Gloria.) Did I ever tell you, Gloria, that I had 
a number? Such a lovely number! Hereafter I must 
be known as John, plain John, Disciple No. 1, in 
Crapsey's School for Socialism. 

Gloria. Crapsey's School for Socialism? 

Jack. In Canterbury, England! And I hold the 



60 The Convolvulus *Act in 

unique distinction of being the only pupil that Crapsey 
ever had. 

Gloria. Jack, this is terrible! 

Jack (romping about). So you refuse to give your 
consent! Oh, I am so glad. It has always been my 
ambition to marry someone whose parents absolutely 
disapproved of me, who thought me utterly unfitted 
for family life. (To Kathryn.) We shall have all 
the fun of an elopement now, and when you have 
finally divorced me, you can always recollect that your 
parents advised you not to, and that they — (pointing 
to Gloria) after all was said and done, knew absolutely 
nothing of what they were talking about. (Ejvthryn 
does not look up. Dill, like a lazy lion, is lolling about 
at her feet. Sometimes he paws for the string.) 

Gloria. I have this much to say, Mr. Hargrave, 
and that is, that with or without my consent, you 
shall never marry any daughter of mine. 

Jack (with provoking mirth). Kent, if you please! 
But why not.f^ I am a socialist, of course, and I know 
that the world is not yet prepared for socialism. But 
we are only children as yet, and this is still the twen- 
tieth century. When we reach the twenty-first and 
become of age it will be time to talk about that. 

Gloria. You are Kathryn's first cousin. 

Jack. I would be if I weren't adopted, Gloria. 

Gloria. Your mother! (Enter Jane.) 

Jack. Gloria was asking of my mother, Jane. It 
is one of those impossible questions to answer, and 
possibly why she asked. 

Jane. Have you ever thought of your mother. Jack? 

Jack. Oh, I remember my mother. I was adopted 
almost before I was born and yet — 



Act m The Convolvulus 61 

Jane. What was she like, dear? 

Jack. Like no one else in the world, Jane. It's 
hard to be sure of course, but I think she must have 
been just the one woman who never could grow fat. 

Jane. At least I am not fat, Jack. 

Jack. Oh, Jane — my mother! 

Jane. My son John! {Enter Hargrave. His hair 
is short and his costume more civilized. At sight of him 
Dill grows instantly shy and timid. He retreats to 
the shelter of Kathryn who, however, refuses to be taken 
for a tree, and by a series of short playful jumps takes 
him to the centre of the stage.) 

Jack. Father! Where is your hair? Have you 
swallowed it? 

Jane. Your father's hair and I have had a faUing 
out, Jack. We are decided to cut it upon first sight 
hereafter. 

Hargrave. Water! 

Gloria. Come out of there, Dill. Where are your 
manners I should like to know? (Dill holds tray and 
hands a pitcher to Hargrave.) 

Hargrave. Ah! (Drains a glass.) Ah! (Dill 
grows impatient and Hargrave grabs the pitcher.) 

Jack. How degrading drink is ! It's dangerous too. 
There are more germs in water than in anything else 
except whiskey, as scientists will tell you. 

Gloria. I will break the news to you first, Jack. 
Jane is really your mother, and — I think that he is 
your father too. 

Jack (to Kathryn). It is apparent that we never 
can be married now, dear. 

Kathryn. You feel quite sure that we are safe? 

Jack. My dear, cousins could hardly afiPord to 



62 The Convolvulus Act m 

marry, and though I don't beheve a word that Gloria 
said — (Stops abruptly and goes over to Hargrave.) 

Kathryn (with a deep sigh of satisfaction). Well, 
that's over. (Retreats to lounge.) 

Jack (insolently). Sir! I have already found my 
mother. (Gloria looks ominously at Jane.) And ever 
since I can remember I have been told I resembled 
you. 

Gloria (to Kathryn). You said that you recog- 
nized him at once, dear. (Kathryn makes a little 
face.) 

Jack (earnestly). Are you my father .^^ 

Hargrave. I am not. 

Jack. Who is my father.^ 

Hargrave. I don't know. 

Jack. Your answers are satisfactory. In the 
future I don't wish so distasteful a subject to be 
broached again. (Turns away impatiently.) 

Hargrave. Did you say you had found your 
mother? 

Jack. I did. (Looks at Jane who shakes her head.) 

Hargrave (eyeing them all a little suspiciously). 
May I then ask who your mother is, sir.^ 

Jack. Ah, my mother is an angel. (Looks up in 
the air.) 

Hargrave. Do not stand there blinking at the 
stars. I am sorry your mother is dead, but I have 
known that for years. 

Dill. Perhaps the will would put him in a better 
humor, sir. 

Jack (handing it to him). I forgot to tell you, 
father, but I found it after all. (To Kathryn.) It's 
easy enough to find a thing if you're not looking for it. 



Act ni The Convolvulus 63 

Hargrave (to them all). I have just this much to 
say — that even if I was disinherited by my father I 
intend to take this matter to the courts. Fighting, 
especially fighting for the right, has always been a 
point of honor with me. 

Gloria. One pig, Dill.? 

Dill. One pig, then. 

Gloria (advancing). As we do not seem able to 
be married on land, Mr. Hargrave, Mr. Kent and I 
have decided to try the water. We are sailing this 
evening. 

Jack. You are not sailing in those trunks, Gloria? 

Gloria. Mr. Hargrave, I am a lady. Those are 
not trunks, those are my new hats. 

Dill. My idea, sir. It's to pass the custom house. 

Jack. Would you like a sail across the pond, dear? 
I know some capital fish stories, and can show you 
where they catch the most gigantic fish. Father 
caught a whale there or something of the sort. 

Kathryn. a shark. Jack, a shark, I'm sure. 

Jack. Well whatever it was we're quite safe. When- 
ever they strike a leak or the ship gets too heavy they 
push all the women off into the little boats. 

Hargrave. What boat are you sailing on, may I 
ask? 

Gloria. The Baltic, Mr. Hargrave. 

Hargrave (to Jane). I feel a little lonely, my 
dear. Don't you think we might try a sail ourselves? 

Jane. Yes, the rent's up. 

Kathryn. What idiots we all are. 

Gloria. Dill! Come here! Did you not tell my 
daughter in that letter that you were an idiot? 

Dill. I did, my dearest, indeed. 



64 The Convolvulus Act III 

Kathryn. Oh, the letter! And now I've lost it — 
what a shame. I always read letters backward and 
never did read more than the last paragraph anyway. 
But it's the only letter from my father that I ever 
had and I feel the loss of it already. 

Dill. Never fear, Miss Kathryn. I will write you 
another. {He thinks long and earnestly^ hut Jails to 
write.) 

Jane. I have a present for you. Jack. {Gives him 
a hag similar to Gloria's.) It was left me by 
my father, but with disclosures of a nature which I 
could not countenance. {At R.) 1 could never own 
up to forty, Peter; never, never, never, if I were a 
hundred. 

Jack. You must never own up to thirty, Jane; I 
shall feel so very old when you do so. {To Kathryn.) 
Don't you think we might get married after all, dear.^ 
It is terrible to have so much money and not know 
what to do with it. 

Kathryn. Yes, love is very beautiful, isn't it? 

Jack {pulling other hag from trunk). I knew I should 
succeed some day, Jane; and I cannot thank either 
you or your sister one-half enough. 

Jane and Gloria {with one voice). 1 was always 
my father's favorite daughter! {Each snatches a hag, 
the two of which are carried off hy Jack.) 

Gloria. Whatever are you doing. Dill.? Are you 
writing a letter to the Pope? {Bell rings.) 

Jack. I distinctly heard a noise. {Bell rings more 
loudly.) I am seldom mistaken. Dill, and as you are 
still the butler {Bell peals again). 

Gloria. Hurry, Dill. It may be some distin- 
guished guest. {Exit Dill very slowly.) 



Act in The Convolvulus 65 

Jane. I have never heard a bell ring that way 
before. I was sure ours had been broken for months. 

Jack. Belles always are, I believe. 

Kathryn. I have taken a dislike to this one 
already. 

Jack. It sounds painfully reminiscent. You do 
not ring that way, Father? 

Hargrave. Someday I shall wring your neck, 
sir. 

Jane. You must learn to control your temper, 
Peter. I don't mind your trying it out on your rela- 
tives, but until it gets quite, quite perfect you must 
remember never to practise it on me. {Takes away his 
glasses and places them on table.) It was only his 
glasses, Jack. 

Kathryn. This suspense is killing me. I know I 
look like a tableau. 

Gloria. My dear, your dress is too low ! You must 
not show your neck until late in the evening, or at 
least until the lights are turned on and everyone is 
looking. 

Jane. I am glad we have chosen so large a boat. 
I feel as though I weighed a ton already. 

Kathryn. I will not wait one moment longer. 
No! not for the Empress of Egypt, if there is such a 
thing. {Goes forward.) Dill can bring the bundles. 
{They follow her to the door, only to recoil in astonish- 
ment as Col. Christopher Crapsey appears. He is 
prodding Dill with his sword which he sheathes gallantly 
upon beholding Kathryn. The others he salutes 
sternly. In fact he salutes at every opportunity, his 
chief occupation being apparently this same salute, 
preceded each time by three mighty strides and heels 



66 The Convolvulus "Act m 

together in approved military fashion. He has all the 
vulgar airs of a soldier, of even a retired soldier.) 

Crapsey (after saluting everybody and everything in 
sight) . Col. Christopher Crapsey — retired Army officer 
— Socialist — and — {delves into pocket for card). 

Gloria. The tray, Dill — the tray! {The efect 
produced by the mention of the word Crapsey stuns 
everyone, with the exception of Kathryn and Dill, 
who have no knowledge of what a really interesting person 
the Colonel is. Jane, of course, was expecting him. But 
Hargrave was not, and, after adjusting his glasses and 
taking one furtive glance, he disappears up the chimney.) 

Dill {bowing deeply). I must observe for the 
second time, sir, that your bearing is most soldierly. 

Crapsey {drawing sword). Silence, sir. {Empties 
seven or eight cards on tray and again repeats the ominous 
words.) Col. Christopher Crapsey, retired Army 
officer ! — Socialist — and — 

Kathryn {to Jack). I am so surprised — I thought 
the men of war were all at sea, and fighting with their 
wives, or with themselves. 

Jack {audibly). I think the man's a fool. 

Kathryn. I'm sure of it. 

Gloria {admonishingly) . Little do either of you 
know how much the Colonel's visit portends. (Crap- 
sey glares at all of them.) 

Jack. This is my last broken ideal. And I so young! 
What a pity. 

Crapsey {looking about him). Ah, I forgot. Jane 
Gibbs, I beheve. {Goes up to Gloria.) 

Jane. I am Jane Gibbs. You wanted to see me 
about my son, did you not.^ 

Crapsey I did. 



Act ni The Convolvulus 67 

Gloria. Pray proceed. We are all prepared for 
the worst. 

Crapsey. Ah, it is for the very best. 

Kathryn. How very too bad! Nothing thrills me 
like a disappointment, and now even you refuse to 
marry someone else, Jack. 

Crapsey {annoyed at the interruption). For the 
very best! I have decided your son shall remain with 
me. {To Gloria.) It is hard to realize the effect 
that environment has on the young. It is much more 
vital than heredity, and John I feel bound to state is 
the exact image of me. He has my eyes, my command- 
ing manner, my masterly stride. 

John {from the other end of the room). Have you 
come here to insult me, sir? 

Jane. But I thought John was a scholar, Colonel? 
You have written several letters about his French, 
and you said his Shakespeare was perfect. 

Crapsey. He is more than a scholar, madam. 
Your son is a soldier. He has the soldier's finer feelings, 
and some day will surely join the ranks to become as 
famous as his guardian was before him. 

Jack. I'd rather die than fight for anyone. 

Crapsey {trying not to hear). Yes, for twenty 
years he has been mine. He has been a dutiful, affec- 
tionate son and a help to me in that institution which 
is destined some day to become known throughout 
the entire world. But come! {Consults his watch.) 
There's little time. I arrived yesterday on the Bur- 
goyne and I sail tonight on the Baltic. 

Jack. The Baltic? 

Crapsey {violently). The Baltic! But it does not 
concern you in the least. 



68 The Convolvulus 'Act HI 

Jack {to Kathryn). I assure you, my dear, that 
all this has reference to me. 

Crapsey {to Jane). Your decision, pray.^ 

Jack. I will not go. 

Crapsey. Madam? 

Jack. I will not go. 

Crapsey. Madam, your decision! 

Jack. It is easily decided, Jane. I refuse to go. 

Crapsey {marching up to him). I did not ask you 
to go, sir! Your conduct is an impertinence. 

Jack {to Jane). I will not live with a lunatic. 
Surely the law must side with me there. 

Crapsey {roaring with rage). Who is this offensive 
young person, may I ask, who insults me in this fashion .^^ 

Jack {stepping out). I am John, plain John, Dis- 
ciple No. 1, in Crapsey's School for Socialism. And 
I hold the dubious distinction of being the only pupil 
you ever had. (Crapsey's feelings are hurt beyond 
expression. He wilts perceptibly. At length, with what- 
ever dignity is still his, he turns his back upon the com- 
pany and stalks for the door. There he hesitates for a 
moment and all draw back in doubt as to whether he is 
about to go or charge upon them.) 

Hargrave {crawling out). Is he gone? {He pre- 
sents a droll figure, sooted and covered with dust.) 

Crapsey {returning with two or three wondrous strides). 
I am not gone, sir. And who are you? 

Jack. This is my adopted father, the Rev. Peter 
Kent, alias Hargrave. (Crapsey stares icily, then 
adjusts an extraordinary pair of glasses to his nose.) 

Crapsey. Aha! (Hargrave shivers.) So I have 
not tracked you twenty years in vain. {Draws sivord.) 
You changed your name, but I am too clever to be 



Act m The Convolvulus 69 

mislead by a woman's guile. Defend yourself, sir! 
I remember — the truth is stronger than the sword! 
Come on, sir. (Hargrave retreats to fireplace.) 

Jack. Fighting always was his forte, Crapsey, 
especially fighting for the right. If my Hfe was as 
worthless as yours, father, I'd be fighting all the time. 

Crapsey {turning fiercely on Jack). Shall I run 
you through and through, s\v? (Hargrave glides 
behind the table.) This creature stole you from me 
years ago. But he is welcome to you — to all of you. 
I think it is a den of thieves. 

Jane. Curb your emotions. Colonel. This man 
is soon to be my husband, and Jack was first of all my 
son. (Hargrave is fired to action by this apparent 
disclosure. Forgetting his fears he stamps jealously up 
to Crapsey who meets him half way. They stand face 
to face.) 

Hargrave and Crapsey (together). Her son! 

Gloria {to Kathryn). I told you, my dear, that 
it was really so. 

Jane. Yes, my own adopted son. I found him in. 
one of the fashionable parks of England's great 
city . . . quite homeless, quite dirty, and with- 
out name or parents. I called him John. 

Jack. Thank you, Jane. I knew Gloria could 
never speak the truth. 

Jane. You have been a most extravagant young 
man, Jack. Every dollar which I have spent on your 
education has been squandered. 

Crapsey. And every dollar has been used in 
running this man down. You must admit that I have 
been successful. {Smiles at the thought of his accom- 
plishments and seats himself comfortably.) 



70 The Convolvulus AbT m 

Hargrave (well behind the table). I have no doubt 
that you will still land in jail, sir. 

Crapsey (bounding to his feet) . Aha ! For you, sir, 
I have something in the nature of a surprise. (Fumbles 
in pockets.) After many failures I have at last obtained 
a hearing before the Archbishop; and he, like the 
honest, upright man that he is, has decreed that you 
be unfrocked. I have the order with me. 

Jack. I said you'd be unfrocked, father. 

Hargrave (discarding vest). I am glad of it. For 
twenty years these clothes weighed upon my soul, 
ruined my digestion, dyed my hair, and made me the 
man I am. 

Jack. Your reformation is complete, Jane. 

Dill. In that case, sir, insomuch as my father 
specifically stated in the will that he had disinherited 
you solely because you had entered the ministry, I 
turn over one-half the estate to you. (Gloria stares 
at him reproachfully.) 

Hargrave (kneeling). My brother! forgive me! 

Crapsey. The will! What will! 

Hargrave (holding Dill's hand and the will in the 
air). The will of the late John Kent of Canterbury, 
whose elder son I am. 

Crapsey. Pooh! (Tears it to pieces.) Absolutely 
worthless, revoked it before he died. 

Chorus of Voices. Revoked it? 

Crapsey. Revoked it! And seeing at the last the 
error of his ways, by the merciful will of God left 
every cent he possessed to a School for Socialism, to 
be founded in ye good and ancient city of Canterbury, 
whose ruling spirit I am. The new will was discovered 
just previous to my departure for this country. 



Act m The Convolvulus 71 

Discord of Voices. Oh ! (Each seeks a chair, Dill 
alone being left in the scuffle.) 

Dill (holding up bag). At any rate we do not 
need for money, sir. (Crapsey tosses the coins con- 
temptuously into the air.) 

Crapsey. Bah! American pennies, as worthless 
as the American dollar. (All are visibly annoyed.) 
But hurry! My time is nearly up. Do I go alone, or 
will some of the party accompany me? 

Kathryn. We'll be the young married couple, Jack. 

Jane. We'll be the sisters, Gloria. 

Gloria. Yes, and Dill will be the butler. (All but 
Dill and Jane assent.) 

Jane. I think, Peter, that as your brother has 
been the butler for twenty years it is only fair that 
you should now take his place. 

Kathryn. No one can ever take my father's place. 
It may sound like affectation, but it's not. Dill will 
be the butler. 

Crapsey. That is impossible! In my school the 
women work and do all the work. (All the men and 
Dill are jubilant.) One thing still requires our atten- 
tion. After what person, or persons, shall the insti- 
tution be called.'^ 

Jack, Hargrave and Dill (displaying their now 
reluctant better halves). After my — 

Crapsey. One name at a time, please. 

Voices Three. The Convolvulus. 

Crapsey. Then that is settled. Company fall in. 
(Crapsey stands superbly at the head; next Jane and 
Gloria; next Hargrave and Dill. Kathryn tries to 
hold Jack in last place with her, but he breaks away and 
goes up to Hargrave.) 



72 The Convolvulus ^ct HI 

Jack. I told you, father, that I was going to com- 
plete my education; and perhaps some day I shall 
have the distinction of a number. (Crapsey hits him 
a vicious crack with his sword just as Jack takes Jane's 
chattels away from her. These he adds to Gloria's 
already prodigious pile and joins the ranks.) 

Kathryn. I feel just as if I were boarding the Ark. ' 

Crapsey. The Baltic! Forward march! {They 
describe a short circle. Jack whistling the ''Marseillaise,'* 
''Onward Christian Soldiers,'' or some terrible tango tune. 
Any old tune will not do, however, and care shoidd he 
taken in its selection and use.) 

Jack {disappearing). Dear me! It's five-fifteen, 
and they're beating their wives in London now. {Exeunt 
all.) 

curtain. 



LIST IN BELLES-LETTRES 
Published by CLAIRE MARIE 
Three East Fourteenth St., New York 



SONNETS FROM THE PATAGONIAN: THE STREET 
OF LITTLE HOTELS. By Donald Evans, Author of 
"Discords." Jade boards. $1.25. (Second printing.) 

LITTLE WAX CANDLE— A Farce in One Act by 
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SALOON SONNETS: WITH SUNDAY FLUTINGS— 

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Studies in Description by Gertrude Stein. Canary 
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SYRINX: PASTELS OF HELLAS. By Mitchell S. 
Buck. Grey boards. $1.25. 

THE CONVOLVULUS— A Comedy in Three Acts by 
Allen Nouton. Slate boards. $1.25. 



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